CHATER 7

Audrey’s POV

The days passed in a strange blur of warmth and unease. My body, bruised and battered, was slowly healing under Michael’s constant care. He was always there, never hovering but never far. He kept his promises—to ensure I ate, rested, and recovered.

But the unspoken tension between us was becoming unbearable.

It was in the way he watched me, those piercing gray eyes trailing over me as if memorizing every detail. It was in the way he moved, his presence commanding every room he stepped into, his voice low and deliberate. And it was in the way I felt my wolf stir every time he was near, her longing for him a reflection of my own desires that I desperately tried to suppress.

Even now, as I sat curled up on the couch in his massive penthouse, I could feel his gaze on me from across the room. He was seated at the dining table, a laptop open in front of him. Though his focus should have been on the screen, his attention was firmly fixed on me.

“Do you ever stop staring?” I asked, not looking up from the book in my lap.

“I wasn’t staring,” he replied smoothly, his voice like velvet.

“You’re lying.”

I finally glanced up, and there it was—that smirk that made my heart race despite myself. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes unapologetically raking over me.

“Why would I lie?” he asked, his tone teasing.

I snapped my book shut, my pulse quickening under his intense gaze. “Because it’s rude.”

His smirk widened. “It’s only rude if you mind.”

I did mind—at least, I told myself I did. But my body betrayed me, heat blooming in my cheeks as I struggled to hold his gaze.

“Stop,” I said firmly, though my voice wavered.

He stood then, his chair scraping softly against the floor. My breath caught as he began walking toward me, each step deliberate, his eyes locked onto mine.

“Stop what?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave.

“This,” I said, gesturing between us. “Whatever game you’re playing.”

He stopped in front of the couch, towering over me. The air seemed to shift, growing heavier, charged with an energy I couldn’t ignore.

“It’s not a game, Audrey,” he said softly, his tone serious now. “You feel it too.”

I opened my mouth to deny it, but the words caught in my throat. Because he was right. I did feel it—the magnetic pull between us, the heat that seemed to spark whenever he was near.

But I couldn’t admit that. Not to him. Not to myself.

“I don’t feel anything,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

His lips quirked into a faint smile, as if he could see right through my lie. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be blushing.”

Damn him.

I shot to my feet, ignoring the twinge of pain in my leg. I needed space, distance from him and the way he was making me feel. But the moment I stood, his hand shot out, gently gripping my wrist.

“Don’t run from me,” he said, his voice soft but firm.

I froze, my heart pounding as I looked up at him. His touch was warm, his fingers strong yet careful, as if afraid I might break under his grasp.

“I’m not running,” I said, though the tremor in my voice betrayed me.

His gaze softened slightly, the intensity giving way to something gentler. “You are. You’ve been running since the moment you got here.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry as his words hit too close to home. “What do you want from me?”

His eyes searched mine, his grip on my wrist loosening but not letting go. “I want you to stop hiding. From me. From yourself.”

I shook my head, pulling my hand free. “You don’t know me.”

“Then let me.”

The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard. It wasn’t a demand, but a plea, and it left me reeling.

“I… I need some air,” I stammered, turning away before he could see the confusion and fear swirling in my eyes.

The balcony was cool and quiet, the city lights stretching out below like a sea of stars. I leaned against the railing, letting the crisp night air soothe my heated skin.

What was happening to me? To us?

Michael was unlike anyone I’d ever met. He was intense, commanding, and unrelenting, but he was also patient and protective in ways I didn’t understand. He made me feel things I didn’t want to feel, made me question everything I thought I knew about myself.

“You shouldn’t be out here with that leg.”

His voice startled me, and I turned to find him standing in the doorway, his hands tucked casually into his pockets.

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, though the ache in my leg was a constant reminder of my limits.

He stepped onto the balcony, closing the distance between us in a few strides. I tensed as he stopped beside me, his presence overwhelming even in the open air.

“Why do you keep pushing me away?” he asked, his voice quiet but firm.

I looked down at my hands, gripping the railing tightly. “Because I don’t know how to let you in.”

His silence made me look up, and I was surprised to find his expression softer than I’d ever seen it.

“You don’t have to figure it out all at once,” he said. “But you have to try.”

The vulnerability in his voice unnerved me. I wasn’t used to people caring about me, let alone someone like him. It was too much, too fast.

“I don’t know how,” I admitted, my voice breaking.

He reached out then, his hand brushing against mine where it rested on the railing. The contact sent a jolt through me, and I looked up at him, startled.

“Then let me show you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The space between us seemed to vanish, his face so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin. My heart raced as I met his gaze, those stormy gray eyes holding me captive.

For a moment, I thought he might kiss me, and the thought terrified me as much as it thrilled me.

But instead, he pulled back, his hand retreating as he stepped away.

“Get some rest,” he said, his tone steady again. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving me alone on the balcony with my racing heart and the lingering heat of his touch.

That night, I lay awake in the guest room, my thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and longing. Michael was right—I had been running, not just from him, but from everything.

But how could I stop when I didn’t even know who I was anymore?